Blackouts and Breakdowns

This past weekend, my good friend Rabbit (this name is suitable for a variety of reasons) and I made our annual trip to New York City. This trip started four years ago when we went to this fair city, as young, innocent college students for a journalism conference. Little did we know we’d be leaving there with massive hangovers, a new love for the Irish and the beginning of a life-long friendship. When the other girls said they would prefer to stay in and watch Titanic on St. Patty’s Day eve, and our last night in the city that never sleeps, I knew Rabbit and I would soon be best friends as we gazed at each other and silently thought, “Well, F*ck that. “ What ensued that night included being over served by our friendly bartender (Leprechaun) and leaving the bar with NO TAB. Happy St. Patty’s Day, indeed. I got no sleep and we had to pack Rabbit’s suitcase for her (she lost any motor packing functions around 3 a.m.). I’ll never forget when she put her puke bag through airport security. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

We now refer to these trips in volumes. Vol. 1 was our awakening to bars (for her really), and the fact that the lot of Irish folk travel to NYC for Patty’s Day. A minor obsession also begin, but more on that later. During Vol. 2 Rabbit was still in college, and I was just fresh out in the working world, but we managed to cross paths. (Unfortunately, she was not victim of an Elton John sing-along in the Upper East Side that lasted well past sunrise and the being locked in the bar from the inside—it’s good to be friends with the bartender). Vol. 3 was basically a shitshow of ridiculous shenanigans on both our parts; beautiful Irish and American boys, Brooklyn and town cars featured prominently in this trip. Score one for the hometown team! (and by hometown team, I mean Rabbit and an underage college lad. Way to pull a Demi Moore.)

Although by Vol. 4 (aka this past weekend) we had both matured considerably (she now has a boyfriend, no more lucky charms for her!), we still found ourselves in situations that only the two of us could find ourselves in. Standing there in the TKTS booth, looking like such obvious tourists, we made friends with a fabulous gay fellow who was giving us recommendations for a show. He squealed in delight when he discovered we were from D.C. and promptly introduced us to his friend who, also, used to live in D.C., although hates it with a passion (awkward for us, the tourists from this town of hatred). Said friend had just published a book. A book, you say? Why this sparked our interest:

Rabbit: Oh, congratulations! What’s the name of your book?

Gay book writer: (light chuckle): Blackouts and Breakdowns

Rabbit: (after we have exchanged quick know-this-concept-all-too-well glances and suppressing laugher) Ah, yes sound familiar.

Bahaha, sounds familiar? Sounds about right. We could have co-authored this book, especially in reference to our NYC trips. We decided henceforth to label Vol. 4. Blackouts and Breakdowns.

Although no actual blackouts and breakdowns occurred, we still have another memorable NYC trip to add to the record books. And, as always, we learned a little bit more about the city we adore from afar, and ourselves.

• Do not visit the Empire State Building in the middle of a hurricane, or other hurricane-like conditions, such as gales and squalls. This does not make for a pleasant view of the skyline, but does create some entertaining videos on your camera. Also, the ESB smells pungently like whiskey. Or maybe that was just us.

• Dudes from Iceland can be very creepy. That is all, Sven.

• An all you can drink brunch can only be made better by subsequently visiting the Museum of Sex. Be sure to grab a cab, and instead of telling him the cross streets, shout loudly, “We are going to the Museum of Sex! Oh, you didn’t hear me, I said the MUSUEM OF SEXXX” and giggle like the 14-year old girls you become after 3 hours of constantly flowing champagne.

• Control your umbrella, bitch. If you happen to lose control and slam it into your unsuspecting friend’s forehead, do not then, ask if she got hit in the face – when you can clearly see the red mark. Concussed!

• If you are lucky enough to be friends with an Irish bartender, he will hook you up. Chicken wings, 4-5 coronas, 3-4 Magner’s and 4 shots (combined here, I’m no alchy!) does not equal a $19 tab. And I thank you, Leprechaun.
  

• Having the entire bar bust out in song after you play “Come Sail Away” is just awesome. And when you play a single country song, it’s much easier to make friends with “the onlyyy red-blooded republican gals in New York!!!!” or so said the overzealous girl who proceeded to play the Dixie Chicks album anthology. Don’t know if I’m a red-blooded republican, but a Dixie Chicks fan can do no wrong in my book.

• And when you promised your friend you’d only stay for 2 drinks, and she stays for 5 hours so you can play kissy face with a Leprechaun, you know you have a true blue friend.
  

So, no, there were no blackouts or breakdowns this year. But there was food, drink, endless laughter, and a puke-free ride home by all. And really, what more can you ask for?